


Lover

by ShiDreamin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Playlist - HQ Childhood Friends Zine, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 03:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30049146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiDreamin/pseuds/ShiDreamin
Summary: Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?With every guitar string scar on my handI take this magnetic force of a man to be my loverIf someone had once told young Iwaizumi that he would be surrounded by crystalline flowers and chiffon curtains on his wedding day, standing at the altar with an Argentinian translator, he would have hurt someone. Young Iwaizumi had spring allergies, for one, wasn’t really a fan of itchy chiffon, for two, and for three, he had no interest in ever getting married.But here he stands, a ring on his finger.(He's in love.)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22
Collections: Zine Pieces





	Lover

**Author's Note:**

> [ Lover ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-BjZmE2gtdo&ab_channel=TaylorSwiftVEVO)

“Ladies and Gentlemen, will you please stand?”

If someone had once told young Iwaizumi that he would be surrounded by crystalline flowers and chiffon curtains on his wedding day, standing at the altar with an Argentinian translator, he would have hurt someone. Young Iwaizumi had spring allergies, for one, wasn’t really a fan of itchy chiffon, for two, and for three, he had no interest in ever getting married.

But here he stands, a ring on his finger.

“Thank you for coming to our ceremony.” The microphone wavers in his hands, shaking even as Iwaizumi’s eyes stare forward. He knows these words, rehearsed forwards and backwards against the mirror, in scrubs and tired eyes after a long night. But he had chosen physical therapy for a reason.

A reason he’s bought bouquets of flowers for.

"I apologize for those of you visiting from overseas. I’m sure that watching this forceful gorilla wasn’t in your trip plan.” Their audience laughs, gentle, kind, the waxing string quintet Hanamaki recommended playing even as Iwaizumi swallows, the words heavy on his tongue.

“You’re annoying and loud.” So loud, the sound of that hollowed ball squished against the court, fast, so unbearably fast, even as the squeak of sneakers on sweat-stained wood compete to take out Iwaizumi’s ears. That entire empty court, the ceiling seemingly twenty meters high, those lights brighter than nationals—and that one leader in the middle of the court, setting that ball up high.

A long and perfect arc for his ace.

“Overdramatic and petty.” In middle school, crying when Iwaizumi’s mom said that they may be moving away because of his dad’s job. Holding that crumpled up letter, and then the package filled with star shaped confetti and a picture book of them. Crying again when his dad came home with the news that relocation wasn’t happening, that they’d be together. Forever. As promised.

“Magnetic,” Iwaizumi admits, the image of watching movies under the covers when they were seven, holding back frightened tears when the aliens seemed to pop out of the screen. Magnetic, because he still stays up sometimes, halfway across the globe from Japan, watching live volleyball matches even as jetlag sags at his shoulders.

A video of tears replayed 7 times over, Iwaizumi on one knee on global television, a ring in his hand.

“And true.”

A promise to each other. A swear to be alive, to be well, to live and to fight and to soar in that open sky. The sound of their violins, and the feel of their suits, and the smell of their flowers. Pitched by one, and picked by two.

A setter and his ace.

Honestly, he should have seen this coming. Iwaizumi smiles, lowering the microphone from his lips. He’s forgotten the script, the flowery language, the perfectly timed jokes. Ushijima looked it over for him. Kageyama did too, editing the script until it was wedding perfect. It’s good. It’s really good.

But this derailment is all  _ Iwa-chan _ .

“Sometimes,” he whispers, words only for them, “I think I’ve loved you from the first twenty seconds to the past twenty years.” He wonders if he’s going to cry.

“Ridiculous,” he hears, “you fell for me in the very first second.”

Ah. Right.

It’s Oikawa he’s marrying after all.

“I suppose that’s true,” Iwaizumi laughs, real, all real, him and no speech, no string quintet, no flowers. Him, and Oikawa Tooru, sweating in groomswear, even though they don’t need to do this. Even though his heart would beat just as strongly in the backyard on a hot summer day, eating chilled soba and sticking aged holographic stickers on old notebooks. Even though it beats loudly enough to pound in his ears even against the echo of the microphone in the stadium, the cameras all panning to a perfect serve, a perfect set, a perfect smile.

Even though he could live out an eternity without a single ring, without a spoken promise, without the tears welling up in his eyes.

The tears that have already to make their way down Tooru’s face.

“All’s well that ends well, right? I don’t know who else would marry such an ugly crier.” He’s lying, of course. To the average person, Tooru’s crying would probably be atrocious, loud and grumpy and usually accompanied with snot and dripping sweat from a five round match. But he’s never the average person.

“You jerk, Iwa-chan.” He can’t be blamed for wiping Tooru’s cheek, the softest smile on his face. Iwaizumi certainly can’t be blamed for the smile that erupts on his own when Tooru laughs, leaning into the touch.

“What’s so funny?” As if he doesn’t know.

“Just thinking,” Tooru giggles, and then, as though following a step-by-step to a heart attack, bringing their hands together.

“About?”

“About being called Iwaizumi Tooru and Oikawa Hajime.”

Oh.

“That’s not funny,” he says, and maybe he’s grinning a little too wide, and maybe that giddy feeling is taking ahold of him too.

Maybe he can’t be blamed for going off script when they’ve never played according to one.

“Now what’s funny?” Tooru teases, a secret between them and their wet cheeks, a whisper kept fond from the ones in the audience. The sound of strings fades back in, the sight of petals down the runway, the smell of cologne Matsukawa sprayed on his neck. A glance to their parents, sitting together on opposite sides of the aisles, neighbors until the end.

He wonders if they moved in knowing that they’d end up like this.

“Just a joke,” he murmurs.

“Tell me?” It isn’t fair, he thinks, the music and the lights and the flowers, the dress pants and the paintings and the lights, the way Tooru leans in with glitter on his lashes and gloss on his lips. 

“Later,” Iwaizumi, Iwa-chan,  _ Hijame _ swears, “I’ll save all my jokes for you.”

“Yeah?” Tooru breathes, a ghost of a word against Hijame’s lips, and perhaps they’re supposed to wait for an officiant to give them the word, perhaps they’re meant to finish this sprawling speech that’s flew from his mind. Perhaps they’re supposed to put on a show, lift their legs high and talk about promises just for today, as though they haven’t tucked away a branching future’s worth of plans in their luggage, always packed for another match, another journey in their sprawling life together. “I’ll save all mine for you too.”

The possibilities don’t really matter though, when it’s him and it’s him, two and then one, kissing under an alter for a religion they don’t follow wearing suits that don’t matter.

There’s cheering in the background, something that sounds oddly like Hanamaki bursting into tears, and wind charms ringing in the air. There’s the sounds of cameras going off, of the videographers circling the stage, and now, thinking of it, the microphones in the flowers near them might have picked up his botched speech anyway.

It definitely doesn’t matter when Tooru pulls away, their cheeks wet with each other’s mirth, their hearts bursting in rhythm. Hajime knows he’s grinning from ear to ear, this dopey thing he’d never show to his juniors, and it’s okay because Tooru is smiling too, hiccupping from the giggles and the tears.

Mr. Oikawa Tooru, national volleyball captain of Argentina, would never allow himself to be filmed like this.

But he isn’t Oikawa Tooru anymore, now is he?

“I suppose I can call you my lover now on television, huh?” Iwaizumi, no,  _ Oikawa Hajime _ says. It sounds strange, otherworldly and ethereal, in his head. A piano playing a half beat off for a lifetime until it was freshly tuned, the notes unusual but  _ right _ . Falling perfectly into place.

A ball set just for him.

“We were always lovers,” Iwaizumi Tooru laughs, and that’s odd, isn’t it, exact it’s at the right time, and the right tone, and the right everything, because it’s Tooru, and it’s always been Tooru, stealing his ice cream and playing rough with their balls and throwing himself into familiar messes just because. It’s Tooru, overdramatic and true, laughing and kissing and swinging their hands, the clink of their rings mesmirizing.

It’s Tooru. It’s  _ always _ Tooru, from birth and to death, who steals his breath away with every smile, every smirk, every sneer.

Someone Hajime could hate, showy and loud and arrogant.

Someone Hajime could love, humble and quiet and kind.

“I’ll tell every reporter in your next match,” he promises.

“You better,” Tooru laughs, and if he falls the slightest bit deeper with every second that passes its Hajime’s secret to tell.

They’re lovers, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Guys,,, guys,,, GUYS IWAOI,,  
> I was absolutely jazzed to write for [ Playlist ](https://twitter.com/HQPlaylistZine) !! The mods did an absolutely splendid job running not one but three minizines,,,, I may have shed a tear when I got my bundle ;v; If you want to get your hands on the zine/merch (and BOI IS IT WORTH), leftover sales are opening soon!
> 
> IWAOIII Σ>―(〃°ω°〃)♡→ They are so in love,, writing this gave me so much serotonin!!!! I think they are Neat and should marry immediately bc they deserve the best (and the best for them is each other, clearly <3 )
> 
> Judge my life choices on [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/shidreamin/)


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